Quotes of the Day
The beginnings of a new Afghanistan can be found in Razia Aqbalzada's classroom at the Shinbul Girl's Primary School. The blackboard has been taken over by a visiting election officer who is telling the students about the Sept. 18 vote for the country's parliament and provincial councils. But the students at the back of the room are more interested in the sudden appearance of a reporter than in how to mark a ballot. That's until their teacher slams her hand on the desk. "Why are you not listening?" she chides. "You must pay attention to how the elections will work, so you can teach others, so you can make a good decision. Don't you understand? You are the future of Afghanistan."
Aqbalzada's students are only in seventh grade, but their ages range from 18 to 27. Their schooling was interrupted by civil war and the Taliban regime, which barred girls from attending classes. Now they are getting a crash course not just in basic biology but in the rudiments of democracy. They are learning how to vote, in particular for their own teacher, who is running for election in the central Afghan province of Bamiyan. "At my school I can only help a few women at a time," says Aqbalzada, 29. "If I get a seat on the provincial council, I can help my country."
Nearly four years after the U.S.-led coalition overthrew the Taliban, Afghanistan is still stumbling on the path to peace and stability. The country is nowhere near as violent as it was before; it has a new constitution that enables the establishment of civil institutions like an independent judiciary; and foreign investment is trickling in. Outside the capital Kabul, however, much of the hinterland remains poor and lawless, often controlled by rival warlords and drug barons who do not answer to the central authorities. The presidential election that Hamid Karzai won last year should have given the divided country a unifying leader. But Karzai has been hamstrung by the lack of a parliament or local government bodies, and many Afghans derisively call him "mayor of Kabul."
Afghanistan will only become a true democracy when citizens can turn for help to locally elected leaders, rather than armed warlords. That's why this week's polls are potentially so important. Yet there's no guarantee they will help stabilize the country. Historically, power in Afghanistan has been seized; asking for votes is an unfamiliar exercise. Indeed, campaign posters plastered on walls, windows and rusting Soviet-era tanks around the country reflect a vagueness of mission. "Truth, faithfulness, good work. Think of me and my agenda when you vote," pleads one candidate. Others promise peace, demilitarization and reconstruction—noble goals, for sure, but hardly likely to be within their reach. What's more, all 5,800 candidates for the 249 parliamentary seats and 420 provincial council posts are running as independent individuals. Without the backing of political parties, the legislators will lack the clout that might come from working in unison, fears Joanna Nathan, senior Afghanistan analyst for the International Crisis Group (ICG), an international think tank dedicated to preventing conflict. "That's going to make for a horribly weak and paralyzed body unable to accomplish anything."
Yet if nothing else, the elections will change the face of Afghan politics. In a bold initiative that has earned the ire of many of the nation's men, the constitution of Afghanistan, instituted in January 2004, has mandated that at least a quarter of the elected posts be reserved for women—putting the country ahead of Australia, Canada, the U.K. and the U.S. in terms of female representation in government. The names of male and female candidates will appear together on the ballots, but the female candidates with the most votes are guaranteed seats, even if they do worse than their male counterparts. Afghanistan's women have enthusiastically embraced the quota. "Women are smarter than men," says Aqbalzada. "We may not understand politics, but we understand the needs of society because we are mothers. Men only understand men."
Those men still want to call the shots. Restricted by the social rules and safety fears that continue to govern women in Afghan society, female candidates are unable to campaign freely: they cannot travel on their own, throw election rallies or give speeches at mosques, the traditional arena for Afghan politicking. Nor can they expect support from local religious leaders, who denounce women in politics as an abomination. Under the Taliban, images of women were forbidden—and many families still prohibit wives and daughters from showing their faces in public. Yet 565 women candidates have had their photos placed on the ballots, even though they have to go to extraordinary lengths to get their messages across. More than one candidate in the Taliban heartland of Kandahar is campaigning door-to-door in a burqa, the head-to-toe veil that conceals even the face.
In the less conservative province of Bamiyan, where the enforced seclusion of women wasn't part of the local tradition before the Taliban came to power, female candidates must still make concessions because of their gender. Marzia Mohammadi, 30, a medical doctor and one of seven candidates aiming to fill the seat set aside for women representing the province in parliament, had to get permission from her husband, as well as from the other male members of her extended family, in order to run. Unable to take public transport alone, she has had to hire a jeep and driver to take her out to the remote villages that make up her constituency, and because her own village is so far away, she has rented a small office in town so that she has a place to stay while campaigning.
Having distributed the 10,000 posters and brochures she had printed up at the beginning of her campaign, Mohammadi is worried about how she will pay for the next batch. She estimates that she has already spent at least $2,000, more than six times her monthly salary as a midwife. The financial burden—which she has covered in part by selling all of her gold jewelry, aside from her wedding ring—will only increase as the poll nears. The election commission grants each candidate airtime at local radio stations—a female candidate's best bet for getting her name out—but production of a good campaign commercial is costly. Still, Mohammadi and her husband believe the sacrifice is worth it. "This jewelry is nothing," her husband told her. "It is of no value compared to helping your country."
Mohammadi's determination to campaign is characteristic of many of the women candidates, a lot of whom are understandably convinced that they can do a better job than men. "Take a look at Afghanistan," says 25-year-old parliamentary candidate Razia Haidri. "We couldn't possibly do any worse." It's a widespread belief that women will be less susceptible to the corruption, tribal ties and warlordism that have dominated Afghan politics. It may even give them an edge with some male voters. "These women don't have blood on their hands," says Nathan of the ICG. "They have not been involved in past atrocities. Men may vote for them for that reason alone."
With more than 48 U.S. troops dead so far in 2005, and another 1,000 Afghans killed in the insurgency, this is turning out to be the nation's deadliest year since the war to remove the Taliban in 2001. The violence may well worsen as polling nears. Already several election workers have been killed by insurgents, along with at least six candidates. Women across the country have received letters and phone calls threatening them with death if they don't withdraw their candidacy, and election officials are investigating rumors of rewards for killing women who are running. Yet even a bomb threat hasn't stopped Noorziyah Charkhi, a 36-year-old mother of four from Lowgar province, from campaigning for parliament. "I have faith in Allah," she says. "I know I am doing good work, and I will continue until the last second of my life."
While most Afghans decry the insurgency's efforts to sabotage the elections, the threats against women candidates are rarely criticized. Men feel jeopardized by the idea of women in government—a discomfort reflected in newspaper columns, public speeches and private conversations across Afghanistan. Some men fear that female representatives will take away the rights of men; others quote a line purportedly attributed to the Prophet Muhammad, saying that a country led by women will be "doomed to failure." Veterans of the war against the Soviets ask what women have done to earn a place in government.
In a heated discussion on the subject one late summer morning in Kabul, Haji Abdul Sattar, a former mujahid, declares that neither tradition nor Islam gives women the right to lead men. "We can't stop these women," he says—the constitution ensures that. "But in our hearts and minds we know Islam does not allow this, and we will not listen to these women." Much of the anger is directed at the West, which many perceive as hypocritical for pushing Afghanistan to draft a constitution that gives women more political power than they might have in Western countries. "You say that in America you value women very much," argues parliamentary candidate Commander Daoud, a respected leader in the anti-Soviet resistance, "but if that is true, why are there so few in your own Senate?"
It's a question repeated often in Afghanistan, and one that provokes an uncomfortable pause among the Westerners who consulted on the country's new constitution. Peter Erben, the Danish head of the Joint Electoral Management Body, a group comprising Afghan and international experts overseeing the elections, says it's not so much a question of women's rights as of effective government. In his work with nascent democracies from Kosovo to Bosnia to Iraq, Erben says he has found that strong female participation has consistently had a beneficial effect: "Women are often quite good at playing a constructive and reconstructive role vis-à-vis their male colleagues. They bring new ideas into governance and help young parliaments find a way forward." To Nasrine Gross, an Afghan university professor who has returned from exile in the U.S. to train Afghanistan's future parliamentarians, women legislators and politicians may also provide much-needed inspiration to the nation's youth. "In the U.S., a woman can be a CEO, a movie star or a sports icon," she says. "In Afghanistan, nobody even knows what the President's wife looks like. We need strong role models for the next generation."
Even so, 25% female representation may prove an awkwardly abrupt change for a country that four years ago didn't allow its women to walk the streets unaccompanied by a male relative. Because of the quota system, women candidates with just a minimum of votes can still get a seat in conservative provinces. But that would hardly amount to a mandate, and may hamper their ability to lead. The ICG's Nathan worries more that the quotas don't go far enough to ensure women a role in areas where it really matters—on the special commissions that address national security, foreign affairs or domestic spending. "You can't just load women into parliament," she says. "You have to ensure that they have a voice on these important commissions."
In the meantime, says Gross, it will take more than a government-imposed quota for women to overcome generations of repression. At a recent lecture for parliamentary candidates in Kabul, Gross noticed that the women stayed in their seats during breaks, while the men jumped up for cups of tea. When asked why they weren't getting tea for themselves, the women answered that it was not their place to go first. Gross, who lived in New York for several years, waved her lit cigarette at them in exasperation. "The only way you will be able to serve your country, ladies, is if you learn to serve yourselves first," she told them. None of the women moved. "We still have a very long way to go," says Gross. "We may have women in government, but the next step is getting them to take their places alongside men. Only then will they be able to make a difference."
Mohammadi, the doctor and parliamentary candidate from Bamiyan, is determined to make that difference. Besides fighting for women's rights, her first goal if she wins office is to build clinics and schools in her poverty-stricken province. The final rounds of campaigning are grueling, and she's exhausted, but she keeps knocking on doors, meeting with reluctant tribal leaders, and thrusting campaign brochures into the hands of every stranger she meets. "The constitution may give rights to women," she says. "But it is up to us to take those rights and do something with them." She knows this is just the beginning—and that there is too much to lose if she gives up now.
- Aryn Baker | Bamiyan
- Four years after the fall of the Taliban, Afghan women are now guaranteed a role in government. Can they save a nation still groping for peace?